


Beautiful Fools

by foppishaplomb



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Frottage, implied Soldier76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foppishaplomb/pseuds/foppishaplomb
Summary: Reaper and Widowmaker discuss a small problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

> bisexuality

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

Widowmaker didn't feel fear. If she did, it would have been from a real Talon agent's voice saying those words, not a mercenary. She tossed a disdainful look over her shoulder. Tracer’s touch still lingered on her cold hands. “Yes. The mission.”

“And with who.”

He reappeared out of the shadows in front of her in that dramatic way he had, reemerging from the darkness itself to loom over her, too close. He had no heat to him, not like Tracer. Only the coldness of the shadows, where Widowmaker felt at home. She made no move to leave. “It is nothing to do with you,” she said.

Reaper tipped up Widowmaker’s chin. His delicate claws ghosted over her skin, gentle pinpricks that didn't hurt but contained the threat of it. It was what made it tolerable. “Talon made you.” Everything he said was a growl, filtered through his mask. “Overwatch made me.”

Widowmaker had memories of a past life, but none had color to them. They were washed out, empty, proof of a wasted existence. How foolish she'd been back then to imagine otherwise. There were only two things in Widowmaker’s existence that had color, and neither had belonged to Amélie Lacroix. “It gave me the kill,” she acknowledged, careful, always careful. A cautious spider never got caught in another web.

“It gave you everything. Overwatch took everything from me.” He stroked her cheek. “That's what it does. It takes.”

Widowmaker was silent. Not everything. There was one more spot of color in her life, and Reaper in his shroud of black had nothing to do with it.

“You don't think so any longer.”

“Non.” Widowmaker was not made to say no to her superior, but she was not made to lie to him either. The kill was perfect crimson, like Reaper’s ammunition, like the blood in his still-somewhat-human veins. The other source was the color of the sun and a chest that glowed brilliant blue, more blue than even Widowmaker’s skin.  _ "You know who it is."  _ It was easier to say in French than in English, to keep it in the parts of her Reaper still didn't understand, even after he saw Talon tear her apart and put her back together.

“English,” Reaper reminder her, his grip tightening. Surely she didn't need to. Tracer was light. Even he must have been able to see it in her smile.

“The girl,” said Widowmaker.

Reaper laughed. It was a deep and throaty thing. If Widowmaker still felt emotions, it would have sent a shiver up her spine. He moved his claw to her throat, then to her chest to feel the inhumanly slow beat of her heart. He didn’t hurt her, but oh, how he could have. “Lena Oxton is an idiot. Too young and naive to understand what Overwatch did to her.”

“A beautiful fool,” Widowmaker agreed. Her heart sped up by a single beat.

Reaper seemed to notice; he took his hand away. “I knew one of those, once.” A disdainful laugh. “He thought himself serious and mature. A military hero.”

Reaper’s sarcasm was thick on the word ‘hero.’ Widowmaker thought of the sincerity that Tracer said it with, like the word itself was a precious gift, and chuckled. The little thing was a jokester who couldn't hide what she truly believed in. “She couldn't be more different.”

“Not anymore. Perhaps not before. He was naive, back then. So was I.”

Widowmaker allowed herself a small smile. “You learned.”

“Only your beautiful fool didn't.” Reaper paused. “Her, and her monkey.”

“Don't speak of the monkey.” Widowmaker waved him away and began to leave. Was it wrong to envy an ape?

“Wait.” Reaper didn't move, though he could easily have stopped her himself again. “Tell me.” There was almost amusement in his raspy, dark voice. “What do you want from her?”

Widowmaker thought, but only for a moment. “Everything.”

“Hm.” The mask looked down at her impassively. “I thought you were smarter than that. You can't have it all. I know.”

“I only want  _ her  _ everything.” Widowmaker thought of Tracer’s smile, her touch, the bell of her laugh, all as fleeting as the moment of the kill. She couldn't bear to part with it until it could be no more. “To break her.”

“That's more like it.”

Widowmaker so rarely asked questions, but she didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes as him. “And yours?”

“Hm?”

“Your fool.”

Reaper didn’t speak for a long, heavy moment. “That was over a long time ago.”

Widowmaker put her hand on his chest. Through all the armor, she could feel his heart faintly beating. She couldn’t feel a heartbeat without wanting to snuff it out. She would settle for it racing. She leaned up and kissed his mask.

His hands came to rest on her waist, the points of his claws coming close to the small of her back. “I thought you were holding out for Overwatch’s sweetheart.”

“There is no reason to waste a moment. Are you disinterested?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then don’t ask questions.” She kissed him again. Her lipstick left a purple smear on the bright white of his mask. She didn’t lift it up. Some things were best left private.

She unclipped his extra belt of ammo without asking and let it fall to the floor. It was in the way of her hips against his, the erection she could feel forming. She didn’t know what Reaper wanted--perhaps he really did just think he saw his past in her--but she could play the part of a femme fatale. She knew what she looked like. She wasn’t a fool. Not like Lena Oxton.

Widowmaker pushed him gently into the wall, hooking her leg up around his hip. He made a growl that sounded almost like a purr. Taking advantage of his distraction, she shot her grappling hook from her wrist into the wall behind them. Reaper watched and allowed her as she tangled his hands into its wire.

“Trying to get the drop on me?”

“I already did.”

“I’m not your little plaything. I don’t think you could pretend even if you tried.” It was true. Reaper and Tracer looked and felt nothing alike, even when Widowmaker’s eyes were closed, her hands hovering just over him to feel nothing but his body heat. She couldn’t be fooled. Reaper smelled of death.

“I don’t need you to be. Just like you don’t need your own fool.”

Reaper chuckled. He was harder than ever. It was easy to grind her hips against him and pretend she almost felt something.

She came with a gasp. Behind her closed eyes, she saw a light in electric blue. She finished Reaper off with her hand, feeling him through the leather of his pants. It was easy to find his cock and finish it to completion. It stirred dim memories of a married life a long time ago, when there was no leather between them. She could only feel the warmth of his orgasm, little of the wetness.

He even growled when he came. She half expected him to screech like a barn owl. It was a breathy one, warped by the mask into an almost animal sound. She thought of the gorilla and lost all interest. She tore herself away, recalling her grappling hook fast enough to give him rope burn if it weren’t for all the armor on his arms. He grabbed her wrist before she could. His big, clawed hand made her own seem so small, but the tips of his claws were still so dainty, like the those of a big cat. A panther was graceful, but deadly.

“Your girl,” he said. His voice was rough with orgasm. His costume hid so much, it and his belt on the ground were the only indications that he had come at all. At least Widowmaker had an excuse. She wasn’t human, but then again, neither was he.

“What of her?”

“Don’t let me down.” Reaper let go. He stepped back, retreating into the shadows, just when Widowmaker had wanted to do the same. “Show her to me broken. Make even that girl understand what the shadows can do to her.”

Widowmaker nodded, but didn’t smile as she watched him go. She looked down at herself, her skin flushed violet, but didn’t feel anything. She closed her eyes and imagined a bubbly laugh, and for just a second, her heart raced again.


End file.
